Passions Present: Flowers For Your Grave
by Dana Keylits
Summary: In the Passions Universe. An AU look at Flowers For Your Grave. Kate is happily living with Bette, but what happens when Richard Castle enters her world? Slash, non-Caskett, & spoilers for 1X01. Though technically a crossover, since Bette is in Kate's world I'm not classifying it as such. Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or settings, they belong to AWM and Ilene Chaiken.
1. Meeting Richard Castle

**Passions Present: Flowers for Your Grave  
**By Dana Keylits**  
**

**Epilogue**

I awoke with a start, momentarily disoriented by the darkness that surrounded me, my mind hazy, recalling the vestiges of a disordered dream, disturbing images compounded by my own perceived paralysis. I opened one eye and was thrust into the present, suddenly aware that the screaming noise in my head was actually the piercing ringer on my cell phone. I reached out blind to the bedside table and, getting lucky on the first try, snatched it up, desperate for the chaos to stop! I glanced at the clock and did a double take when I realized it was six o'clock at night. Had I really been asleep all day?

I'd been up most of the night before finishing up a case with Ryan and Esposito, and had stumbled into my apartment in the wee hours of the morning, exhausted, hungry, but grateful that we'd solved the case. Captain Montgomery had told us to go home, but _hadn't_ gone so far as to relieve us from being on-call should another body drop.

And now, judging by the number on my caller I.D., another body _had_ dropped.

Bette came strolling into the bedroom; a mug of steaming coffee perched in one hand, the newspaper in the other. She smiled at me, and then gave me a disapproving look as I tapped _answer _on my phone. I held up a staying finger when she tried to steal the device from me.

"Beckett." I listened as Ryan filled me in. "Flowers over her eyes?" I questioned, knowing right away what we were dealing with. I glanced over at my bookcase, the ancient hardcover of Richard Castle's novel wedged indelicately between two others. "Okay, I'll be there in thirty." I threw back the covers just as Bette sat on the edge of the bed, handing me the hot mug, steam spilling over its edge. I sat up and cradled it in both hands, inhaling it's soothing scent, savoring it's rich flavor as I took a sip, its warmth cascading down my throat, spreading across my chest like a favored blanket.

"Another case?" she questioned, the look of disappointment on her face giving me pangs of guilt.

I leaned forward and kissed her softly, her lips were warm, gentle, just what I needed and I lingered for a minute, my tongue lazily skimming her bottom lip before I pulled away, my eyes still closed, savoring her.

She giggled. "There'd be more of that, Kate, if you didn't have to run off to work."

I groaned, tossing my phone on the bedside table. "I know. I wish I didn't have to go. But, I'm on call." I swung my legs out of bed and stood up, stretching. I lifted my camisole top over my head and tossed it into the wicker hamper housed in the corner of the room. "I need to get dressed. Is there anything in the fridge I can eat before I go?"

She was behind me before I'd even finished the sentence, her hands slipping around my waist, her lips at the back of my neck. "I can think of something _else_ you could eat before you go," she whispered with that deliciously velvet voice of hers.

I smiled, leaning against her, a familiar _twinge_ tickling my belly as her hands mapped my upper body, gently massaging my flesh, teasing me, coaxing me,_tempting _me. I turned in her arms, framing her face with both hands as we kissed, slow and sweet, our tongues waltzing lazily from my mouth to hers and then back again.

Until, finally I pulled away, groaning. "Ugh, I have to _go._ God, this is so not _fair_," I complained.

She slapped my ass as I walked away. "No shit," she agreed.

Dressed, armed, my badge firmly secured to my belt, I ran a hand through my short hair and sauntered into the kitchen, just as Bette put a plate of warmed up leftover Kung Pou chicken on the counter top.

I sat on the high-top stool, picking up my fork. "Ohhh, you're so _good_ to me."

She flashed me a smile. "Don't forget it, either."

"Oh, I wont," I promised with a lilt of my eyebrow. "Don't worry, you'll be handsomely _rewarded_."

She threw the empty leftover containers in the trash, pulled out a bottle of chardonnay and poured herself a glass. She held it up to me as if in toast. "Good."

I frowned. "I want," I whined.

"Later. Finish eating. Go to your crime scene, and then get back here as soon as you can so we can try and salvage _some_ of this night. Okay?"

"You'll wait up?"

She nuzzled up to me, kissed me quickly, the alcohol on her lips a temptation to just ditch the case, stay home with her, drink wine, make love, laugh, play, enjoy ourselves.

It was _tempting_.

"I'll wait up," she promised.

* * *

**Chapter One: Meeting Castle**

"You like him."

"I do _not_ like him!"

"Kate. Yes you do, you always have. You've read every single one of his books," she held up two fingers. "twice."

I threw Bette my best _oh please_ look before depositing my NYPD issued Glock 17 in the top drawer of our dresser. I spun around to face her, smiling as she lay coyly beneath the quilt, her feminine shape perfectly outlined by the thin comforter. "Well, if I ever _did_ like him, which I didn't, I mean," I struggled with the cuffs on my oxford shirt, "I liked his _writing_, but not him - then I certainly _do not_ like him now."

She giggled, like she always did, and most of the time I liked it, except when we were fighting, and then it felt like condescension or manipulation, or perhaps both. Her giggle was like a purr, like a velvety cat-like piece of musical wonder, and it always made me weak in the knees.

"What did he do that has your knickers in such a twist?" Bette asked, closing her book and setting it on the bedside table. She'd clearly abandoned the idea of finishing the last chapter before falling asleep, having removed and folded her glasses and positioned them atop the voluminous novel. She sank down against the pillows and watched me, her eyes glowing with amusement at my outrage.

"He's a child," I explained, inelegantly unbuttoning my cranberry colored shirt as I went on a mental trip down the previous six hours. The case I'd caught was the murder of a woman that could have come straight from the pages of a Richard Castle novel. The staging of the body surrounded by flowers, including two that covered her eyes, were a direct reference to _Flowers for Your Grave_. Since we'd had two previous murders that were also rip-off's from Castle's books, I'd decided to pay a visit to the celebrated author.

What a fucking mistake _that_ had been.

"Do you know that he asked me to _spank_ him?" I huffed, unzipping my pants and trying like hell to not be distracted by the lilt of Bette's perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Can you believe it?" I shook my head, pushing my pants down to my ankles and stepping out of them.

"So, _did_ you?"

I looked down at her sharply, folding the dress pants and laying them carefully over the back of the accent chair in the corner. I'd take them to the drycleaners tomorrow. "Did I do what?"

She grinned. "Spank him."

My jaw dropped. "What? No. Why would you even _ask_ me that?"

She rolled onto her side, propping her head in one hand. She pulled back the covers to my side of the bed and patted the mattress. "I was just kidding, Kate. Come here," she ordered with one knee-weakening whispered command. I pouted for a minute, and then hitched one knee onto the bed, and then the other, and before I knew it, I was crawling towards her wearing nothing but my bra and panties. She met me in the cradle of her arms, and I coiled around her, my whole body relaxing as she arranged the covers over me. I melted into her. "You don't get to be on his side, Bette." I looked up at her. "Okay? I get to bitch about him, and you always have to take _my_ side."

She traced the line of my jaw with the tip of her forefinger before skimming it over my lips. "Okay," she replied.

And then her mouth was on me, her tongue was _in_ me, and all thoughts of Richard fucking Castle were relegated to the deepest dustiest corners of my mind.

Her lips were soft but her kiss was firm and in just two breathtaking seconds, she'd unfastened the front clasp on my bra and groaned as my breasts spilled into her palms. I reached for the hem of her nightshirt, lifting it up and over her head, her dark curls spilling around her shoulders as I tossed it to the floor.

"You're not wearing any underwear," I accused, feeling the tickle of downy hair against my thigh.

"I know," she croaked, her supple lips ghosting my throat. "I've been waiting for you." She scraped her teeth over my sensitive flesh and I bucked against her, sharp runs of pleasure radiating from my belly, inspiring a soft whimper from low in my throat. She inched down my body, taking one nipple into her mouth, cupping my other breast with her hand, her fingers expertly rolling the already hardened nub between them. She sucked on the nipple and then let go with an audible _pop_."I've been waiting for _this,_" she growled as she inched lower, her hands caressing every inch of my naked body, kneading the gentle rise and sinewy curve of muscle like a master masseuse, commanding an army of goose-bumps to stand at attention atop my warming flesh. She curled her fingers beneath the waistband of my cotton bikini underwear, tugging the fabric down my legs, her fingernails gently scraping my skin on their way down, tickling the arch of my foot as she slipped the soft cotton bikini past it. She gently pushed my legs apart with her knees and then dipped her head between them, staring up at me with dark, hooded eyes. "And this, Kate, I've been waiting for _this_."

Her tongue laved my inner lips before circling my clit and I cried out, my hands desperately clutching the bottom sheet that covered the pillow-top mattress. "Bette, _God_." My eyes fluttered closed and I bit my bottom lip, surprised by the swiftness and intensity of my response to her touch.

She hummed against me, the reverb of her voice vibrating against my clit and another wave of pure pleasure rippled through me. I adjusted my hips, swaying them slowly back and forth as her tongue established a steady tempo. She reached up with one hand and palmed my breast, her fingers knowing exactly what to do, and I arced towards her, every care or worry or problem of my day sloughing off of me like melting snow, and all that existed was her, was _us_.

I don't know exactly what I said, but I know a string of dirty words must have tumbled from my mouth because she laughed, even as she was doing what she was doing, she laughed, which made _me_ laugh, and before I knew it, I was laughing and _coming_ at the same time.

She held her chin firmly against my clit, diffusing the waves of my orgasm as they expanded and rippled throughout my body, an admiring hum rising from her throat. And when I was finally still, satiated, purring with satisfaction, she slowly climbed back up me with a cat-like grace, her tongue tracing a path from my naval to my lips, where it slipped into my mouth and I slowly moaned from the heady experience of tasting _myself_ from _her_.

"Mmmm, Bette," I whispered. "...you know just what to do to me."

Stretching my body from toe to top, I raked my fingers through my short hair, leaving parallel lines in their wake, a child-like mewling sound passing my lips. I rolled on top of her and slipped my leg between hers, grinding my hip against the soft mound of hair at the apex of her thighs, pinning her to the mattress. "I'm so glad you were waiting up for me."

She grinned, her eyes like pools of desire, and I was momentarily lost in their mysterious obsidian reflection. "I'm glad I could be of service," she whispered as she gently scraped her fingernails over my back in lazy haphazard patterns. "The antidote to a crappy night."

I skimmed my lips over hers, my tongue darting out to playfully lave her bottom lip. "Oh, you're more than that," I replied. "You're like _oxygen_."

* * *

**S**he was already up and dressed by the time I opened my eyes, the steaming mug of coffee on the bedside table my tell that she had either already left, or was about to leave for work. Bette was an art broker, and part-time curator at the Met, and she had some big important meeting today with a woman who had more money, and more art, than she knew what to do with.

I threw back the blankets and swung my legs over the side of the bed, picking up the mug of coffee and inhaling its delightfully rich aroma. After taking a sip, I padded into the bathroom, peed, washed my hands, and then threw on a robe and slippers.

Back in our bedroom, I rolled open the old rustic barn door that Bette had found at the Re-use Center, exposing the living room of our Soho condominium, a high ceilinged industrial loft that we'd had converted into a sprawling eclectic living space, and found Bette standing with her back to me at the butcher block counter that separated the living room from the kitchen.

We had been the first of twenty tenants to move into the converted warehouse, which had quickly filled up with other owners, mostly artists and musicians. I'm pretty sure I was the only cop, much less the only civil servant, and I never would have even been allowed to buy here if it weren't for Bette. Buildings like these were pretty exclusive to artist type folks. And, the closest I'd ever come to even _taking_ an art class was posing in one, without a stitch, of course. Bette had talked me into it, daring me to be adventurous, and I'll have to admit, it was quite a heady experience.

I strolled up behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist and kissing her on the cheek. She leaned in to me, smiling, and patted my arm with her hand, murmuring a good morning even as she kept studying the packet of papers on the counter in front of her. She was smartly dressed in a black custom tailored suit and white high collared blouse. Although Bette and I were the same height, she was wearing heels today, so she towered over me. "Thanks for the coffee," I said, walking around the counter to open the fridge and peruse my breakfast options. "And, thanks for last night."

She glanced up, closing the file and tucking it into her elegant leather brief case. Her lips bowed into a mischievous smile, she replied, "No. Thank _you." _She raised an eyebrow. "For _both_ times."

I giggled, pulling out a carton of yogurt and a fresh peach from the refrigerator. "That wasn't me, baby. That second time was all _you._"

"Well, whatever," she said, closing the briefcase and sliding it off the counter. She held it with one hand while reaching across the counter to pull me in for a quick kiss with the other. "It was amazing." She tasted like raspberries and I licked my lips as I watched her walk towards the front door. She grabbed her purse and keys from the hooks that hung from the brick wall, and then spun around. "What time do you think you'll be home tonight?"

My stomach dropped. "Ugh. I'm not sure. Castle is sending his fan mail over and I have to go through it all to see if our killer sent him any."

Her eyebrows shot up and a devilish grin curved her lips. "Ah, another date with Richard Castle, huh?"

I dropped my spoon against the countertop a little more forcefully than I'd intended and made a face. "No," I scowled, my hands on my hips. "No, definitely _not_. He's _sending_ the letters, not bringing them in person."

"Uh huh," she said, her hand turning the deadbolt.

"I don't need some cocky self-absorbed writer in the way while I investigate these murders. We've gotten what we needed from him, if I ever see him again, hopefully it will be at a book signing and not a crime scene."

"Right," Bette sing-songed as she opened the door. "Well, call me later? Let me know when I can expect you? I'll make dinner."

I crossed the room and kissed her goodbye, "'Kay. Good luck with that Peabody woman."

"Thanks," she held up two crossed fingers. "Keep your fingers crossed."

I nodded, kissed her again and then closed the door behind her. I spun around and checked the clock. Shit! I was running late. As I walked past our massive bookcase to get to the bedroom, I spied all of Richard Castle's novels. Digging through the front hall closet, I found a medium sized cardboard box that was currently housing old hats and gloves. I emptied the contents onto the closet floor, and then filled it with the hardcover novels. I placed the box on the counter so I wouldn't forget to take them with me when I left for the Precinct.

Esposito and Ryan were gonna _love_ this assignment. Read all of Castle's books to see if we can predict when another murder might happen. I could already hear them bitching about it.

* * *

**T**hey hadn't bitched so much as _judged._ Especially Espo, who couldn't understand why I enjoyed reading the macabre books. Either you get it or you don't, and I didn't need to justify my taste in reading material to a man who's bookcase was probably filled with sticky-paged back-issues of Penthouse. I wanted to tell him as much, but opted for a more diplomatic response instead, explaining my curiosity about how people could do these kinds of things to one another and reminding him that in the pages of those novels, a clue might exist that could help us solve this case, and prevent another murder. With a nod of his head, he quietly accepted my explanation and returned to his desk to begin reading.

Castle had sent over his fan mail, as promised, three boxes of them, and when I'd returned from lunch, I directed them to be placed in the briefing room. Just then, Esposito strolled up, a file in his hand.

"Did we hear back from the Lab?" I asked.

"Yeah, scene was negative for DNA _and_ prints. Just like Fisk," he replied. "Guy's careful," he offered, frowning.

"What about Tisdale and Fisk. Any connection?"

Esposito tilted his head towards Captain Montgomery's office. "Other than your boy there? No."

I followed his gaze and felt my stomach drop. _Castle_. Richard _fucking_ Castle was standing in Montgomery's office, his suit jacket hooked to his finger and slung over one shoulder, a cocky smile on his face. I spun back around. "What's he doing here?"

Esposito grinned, his brown eyes shining with amusement. "Maybe he likes you."

I made a face, about to toss out a smart-ass retort when Captain Montgomery called me into his office.

"Yes, sir?" I asked, a smile plastered on my face.

"Mr. Castle's offered to assist with the investigation." My CO informed me.

I shifted from one foot to the other, responding sarcastically, "Really."

Castle cocked his head and continued to grin at me. "It's the least I can do for the city I love," he offered.

Ugh. I was gonna vomit.

"Considering the nature of the crime scenes, I think it's a good idea." Montgomery stated quite matter-of-factly.

I paused, thinking over my options. The _last_ thing I needed was for some cocky millionaire playboy mucking up my investigation. I looked from Castle to Montgomery. "Sir," I blurted. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" Castle was still grinning at me and it took everything in me not to stick out my tongue at him. What _was_ it about this guy that turned me into a petulant adolescent? I raised an eyebrow at Montgomery. "...in private?"

Montgomery shoved his hands into his front pockets. "Nope," he replied, much to my disbelief. As my jaw dropped and I watched the Captain walk away, Castle inched closer, standing directly in front of me, that same boyish grin brightening his features. I screwed up my face, narrowed my eyes, and forced myself _not_ to scream.

_Fuck._

I turned on my heel and marched towards the briefing room. _Dammit._ I resented the hell out of this.

And yet somehow, some part of me, some _small_ part of me, was secretly excited, secretly enjoying this, secretly _pleased._

And, I hated myself for it.

**A/N: **_Yes, I have finally written it! Thank you for your patience, and I hope you like it. Mad thanks to KB for helping me get "unstuck" with the storyline. Chapter 2 will be coming soon. _


	2. Deconstructing Beckett

**Passions Present  
**By Dana Keylits

**Chapter Two: Deconstructing Beckett**

I was hiding in the ladies room, cooling my heels, pissed off at him, pissed off at _myself_. Even though I was immensely relieved that we'd made a break in the case, I was still annoyed as hell and pacing back and forth like a caged lioness, trying my hardest to figure out how to get rid of the intrusive author.

After spending the afternoon poring through his fan mail, we'd finally struck gold with a letter that had included a crude illustration of the most recent vic's body. We'd sent the letter to the lab for analysis, but it would be days before we got anything back. In the meantime, Castle was just hanging around the bullpen, being annoying - and charming - entertaining Ryan and Esposito, who were quickly chumming up to him. I'd had to get away because I was seriously considering _going postal_ as a viable option for dealing with them.

My fingers curled into tight fists as I paced, the events of the day churning like butter in my mind, particularly Castle's incredibly presumptuous overreach into my personal life. I felt my eyes narrow as I recalled his words: _Under normal circumstances, you should not be here. _He'd smugly declared._ Most smart good-looking women become lawyers, not cops. And yet, here you are. Why?_ He'd said. Pissing me off, to which I'd stupidly challenged, _I dunno Rick, you're the novelist. You tell me._

And, then he proceeded to _tell me_.

The _balls_ on that guy! To weasel his way into my case, to presume to know me, to step over that line, that boundary that I've kept around myself while at work. _You're wounded, but you're not that wounded, _he'd guessed. I'd built that wall for a reason. It was there to protect me. What right did he have?

God. What an ass.

I stopped pacing and stared at my reflection in the mirror, I looked pale and bothered, annoyed. I tugged on the collar of my blue and white pinstripe shirt, tucking my short hair behind one ear, and picked at a piece of leftover carrot that had been wedged between my teeth since lunch. It was my own mistake. Daring Castle to figure me out, assuming he'd get it completely wrong, a guy like that, he generally only thinks about himself.

Except, he'd gotten it _right._

But, despite his cute trick, he didn't _know_ me. So, he'd guessed well? So, he knew that someone close to me had died? So what? It was a parlor trick any trained observer could manage, including myself.

So, why did it bother me so much?

I didn't know. And, at the moment, I didn't really care.

I took a few cleansing breaths, and steeled myself. I'd have to face the guy eventually.

_Shit_.

* * *

**I** swirled the contents of my drink, the ice cubes clinking against the glass of the tumbler, and savored a generous sip. The alcohol slid down smooth, cascading over my throat, warming my chest. I closed my eyes and took a deep relaxing breath. As I exhaled, I imagined the toxic energy from a more than frustrating day, one that included _another _victim and a possibly questionable arrest, evaporating into the ether, and I instantly felt better.

Castle had pulled a few strings with the Mayors office, despite my protest, and had managed to get us at the front of the line with the lab that was analyzing the fingerprints on the letter we'd found. In the meantime, another body had dropped, another murder ripped from the pages of one of Castle's books, which only meant more annoying investigating by the amateur sleuth. Which hadn't bothered anyone, _including_ Lanie, but me. What had Esposito said? Watching me deal with Castle was more fun than Shark Week?

I took another sip of my drink, contemplating the many ways I could get Javi back for that one.

Later in the day, when the prints came back, we got a search warrant, found the guy holed up in his apartment, a sort of "shrine" to Castle, including illustrations of the murders, in his living room, and made the arrest.

Except, it didn't sit quite right with me, and not because Castle seemed unsettled by it, too. But, because there were puzzle pieces here that didn't exactly fit together. They _looked_ like they fit, but to me, they hadn't snapped into place like they should. Despite my misgivings, Captain Montgomery had called it a good arrest, and the case was closed. Which meant, thankfully, that my "partnership" with Richard Castle was blessedly over.

Bette was just the healing balm I needed to cure the effects of a shit day. But, when I'd arrived home, the loft was empty. Clearly, she was running late from her appointment with that rich art collector, what's-her-face Peabody, so I'd poured myself a glass of Bombay Sapphire and burrowed in on the sofa to watch an episode of Law and Order: SVU. I'd always thought Mariska Hargitay was sexy, but Bette detested her - I didn't know why, so I rarely watched.

Halfway into the episode, the front door opened, and a weary looking Bette drifted into the apartment, kicking off her heels at the front door and dropping her bag with a _thump_ beside them. She shook both fists in the air as I watched her quizzically. "That fucking woman is going to be the death of me!" She pointed at me. "What are you drinking? Gin?" She crossed the space between us in seven equal strides and flopped down beside me, taking the glass from my hand and downing the contents in one big gulp. "Jesus!" She wiped her lips with the back of her hand, kissed me quickly, and stood up. "I'll get a refill."

"Bad day?" I asked, hitting pause on the Tivo, Mariska's face frozen on the screen in mid-sentence.

"You can't even fucking believe how much this woman hates me."

I got up and sauntered to the kitchen, watching Bette as she downed another shot of gin before filling the glass with ice and another pour of the soothing liquid. Sidling up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist as I brushed my lips along the side of her neck, I whispered, "Tell me."

I could feel her soften in my embrace and she rolled her head back, lolling it on my shoulder. "She is _insufferable_," she began, closing her eyes and filling her lungs with air as I continued to nibble on her neck. "She wouldn't give me an answer about lending us her collection, had me jump through all kinds of hoops, I had to pour my heart out, and _still, _by the end of the night, she wouldn't give me a decision."

She turned around and leaned against the counter, taking a sip of the drink and handing it to me. "What's she waiting for?" I asked, tipping the tumbler back and enjoying the slide of the rich beverage as it rained down my throat.

Bette stared at me, her expression unreadable. "Well," she began, biting her bottom lip. "Kate, you're not gonna like this."

I groaned inwardly. "What?"

"She wants to meet you."

"No," I pleaded. I hated those boring meet and greets with Bette's clients.

"And, Richard Castle."

"What?" My eyes grew huge.

"At the same time," she finished, already wincing in anticipation of my reaction.

"No." I drained the glass and then slammed it into the sink with a little more force than I'd intended, the _smack_ of glass meeting stainless steel reverberating around the room. "No way, Bette." I shook my head. "Not gonna happen."

"But, Kate?"

I whirled on her. "No," I repeated. "That's it. No."

She frowned at me and then stepped towards the fridge, opening it to search for leftovers, mumbling loudly enough for me to hear. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear you had a playground crush on him." She glanced over at me as I stood fuming by the kitchen sink, her eyebrows hiked. "Do you?" she asked, squaring herself in front of me. "_Do_ you have a thing for Richard Castle?"

"No," I answered. "God no," I stressed, reaching for her hand. "He's just," I shifted from one foot to the other. "He's _annoying._"

"Well, if that's _all _he is, why won't you do me this favor?"

I chewed the inside of my cheek, hating how petty I sounded, but it was the God's honest truth. "He's _really_ annoying."

**A/N: **_This is a short chapter, I know. But, I needed the transition so we could get to chapter three, which is much more, ah, eventful. :-) Hope you enjoyed it, anyway, and thank you, thank you, thank you for your lovely reviews. :-) _


	3. Forget About Castle

**Passions Present: Flowers for your Grave  
**By Dana Keylits

**Chapter Three: Forget About Castle**

"How did I even get dragged into the conversation, anyway?" I asked, dropping my dinner dishes into the sink and flipping on the faucet. I squirted a dollop of yellow dish soap onto the cobalt blue plate and swirled it around with a sponge. "And, Castle? Why the hell were you talking about him, of all people?"

"I saw one of his books on her bookcase. I just mentioned that you were working a case with him-"

"Ah, no. Correction," I pointed at myself, soapy bubbles landing on my shirt. "_I_ am working the case. He's just being a pest." I continued scrubbing the dish with enough vigor to wipe the glaze clean off.

"Okay, fine. Whatever," she relented, leaning against the counter beside me. "Anyway, as soon as I mentioned him, and you, she demanded we join her for dinner this weekend." She watched me scrub the dish as several unspoken seconds ticked by. Finally, she covered my hand with her own. "It's clean, Kate."

I stopped, crammed the plate onto the drying rack and rinsed my hands free of the dish soap. She handed me a towel, wearing an apologetic look, and I snatched it from her hands. "Well, it's not gonna happen." I shook my head. "No way am I asking that man for a favor."

"Kate,"

"No, Bette, I'm sorry. You'll just have to tell Peggy Peabody that if she wants to meet Richard Castle she'll need to call him up herself."

"Kate. I need this."

I tossed the towel on the counter and headed to the bedroom, shutting off lamps as I went, Bette on my heels. "Who did you tell her I was, anyway?"

"Huh?"

"Bette," I started, whirling on her with an accusing expression. We'd had this conversation a dozen times and it irritated the hell out of me that I was needing to have it again. "I'm not _out_ at work. You know that."

She held up both hands in surrender. "Kate. I know. I didn't tell Peggy you were my partner, okay? I just said you were my friend."

I relaxed, but just a little. "Well," I whispered, pulling my t-shirt over my head. "It's still not gonna happen. It's bad enough I have to let him follow me around at work. I have..." I rearranged my thumb and forefinger into an _O_ and held it between us. "...zero desire to have dinner with the man."

She inched closer to me, reaching out to slip one finger beneath the waistband of my jeans. "Kate. I wouldn't ask if it weren't important." Her scent was distracting and I knew that was her plan. _My_ distraction, so she could get me to agree. "Besides, Peggy will be the one doing all the talking. You won't even have to entertain him!" She tugged on my jeans, pulling me close, her lips descending on my throat in wet, wandering kisses. I moaned, and then groaned.

"This is not gonna work, Bette." I warned, losing my fingers in the tangle of dark curls that fell around her shoulders. "You can't seduce me into agreeing."

"Who says I'm doing that?" she argued, her lips laving a trail along the column of my throat. I shuddered.

I framed her face with both hands, forcing her to look at me. I gave her a smirk. "I _know_ you."

She unsnapped my jeans, a smile curling her lips as she gazed at me, a carnal lust looming just behind the speck in her eye. "Yes," she agreed, ghosting her lips along my jawline, "...you do." She unzipped my jeans, and I flinched, a sharp pang of pleasure radiating from my center. I closed my eyes, my fingers tracing lazy circles against the back of her shirt. "And, I know you, too, Kate. And, I know you want me to get this exhibit..."

I pulled away, searching her eyes. "Bette, you're not going to use sex to get me to change my mind." I took a step back, raising both eyebrows. "I'm not going to ask Castle to Peggy's dinner party, okay?"

Bette returned my stubborn stare with her own, equally as stubborn gaze, until eventually her face rearranged itself into an expression of resignation. "Okay, alright, Kate. I won't push anymore."

I bit the inside of my cheek, narrowing my eyes. It was unlike Bette to give up this easily. "You won't." It was a question but it came out sounding more like a statement.

She smiled, reached out and curled a finger beneath the loose waistband of my jeans, pulling me towards her. I took two stumbled steps, my body pressing into hers. "No," she skimmed her lips over mine, her breath warm and sweet smelling. "I won't." She tugged my jeans down over my hips. "Now, where were we?" Her fingers teased their way between my legs, skimming the surface of my silky underwear, sparking a sequence of deliciously sharp spasms that rippled between my legs and then up my belly. "Mmmmm," she purred. "_I_ remember." She kissed her way down my body, tugging my jeans to my ankles and guiding my feet out of the legs. I reached behind me and braced myself against the dresser as she looked up at me with those obsidian eyes of hers. Her hands were everywhere, mapping every line and curve of my legs, my stomach, my ass. I threw my head back, combing my fingers through my short hair, falling into _her._

In one fluid graceful movement, she had my panties around my ankles. She rose to stand in front of me, her hand palming my soft mound, her breath hot on my ear as she instructed me to the bed. She whipped off her shirt, tore off her pants and underwear, then reached around her back and deftly unclasped her bra. I didn't even bother unclasping mine, I just tore it up and over my head, and then we fell to the bed a jumble of naked limbs, wet, wanting, humming bodies, kissing madly as we coiled around each other.

She reached into the nightstand, pulling out a strap-on, and, moving on to her knees, quickly slipped into it. I rolled onto my back, a smile curving my mouth as I watched her playfully stroke the length of the dildo, feeling my arousal grow exponentially as she gazed at me, her flawless skin brightened by the mischievous grin that bowed her lips. She handed me a bottle of flavored lubricant, which I opened and then squirted a quarter-sized dollop into my palm. As she straddled me, the dildo filled my hand and I stroked it, coating it with the slick vanilla-flavored liquid. I wiped my hand on her ass and she complained about it getting onto the duvet.

"I'll wash it," I promised, my fingers kneading the curve of her left cheek, one finger dipping into the soft cavern of the twin dimples that flanked her tailbone.

I was wet, so wet, and so ready that I tossed the bottle onto the floor and grabbed her waist with both hands, pulling her towards me. She didn't resist, bending forward to suck each of my nipples, rewarded by their rise and stiffening, and then journeyed her way to my lips, her tongue delving into the warm cavern of my mouth, dancing, flirting, _devouring_ me.

I had her breasts in my palms, my fingers pinching the perfectly shaped chocolate drop nipples as she let out a _long_ and tortured sigh. She rose up on her knees, the brown dildo proudly erect, erotic and forbidden. She scooted her way further up my body and I propped myself up on one elbow, while wrapping my fingers around the dildo, and, shooting her a playful look, took it into my mouth.

She held my gaze and whimpered softly, as though she could _feel_ what I was doing. Another surge of desire prickled through me as I sucked and then licked the shaft of the dildo, savoring the vanilla flavor that danced on my tongue. Her fingers played through my short hair as she whispered dirty secrets with that voice of velvet. Then, she gently pushed me back down, shifting backwards herself until she hovered just above me.

Her lips were soft and wet against my smoldering skin, her hands full of mischief, and I felt myself opening to her, my legs spreading apart as she wriggled her way between them. She edged the dildo along the sensitive skin of my outer lips, teasing me and laughing as I wiggled my hips, and then she circled the tip of it against my clit and sparks, I felt actual _sparks_, ignite inside of me.

"Bette, God." I groaned, gripping her shoulders as she hovered over me, and then she smiled, catching my eye, her teeth so white beneath ruby lips, and she _eased_ into me, filling me, and I unwrapped to her, elastic inner muscles stretching to accommodate the rigid dildo – not too large, not too small. I wrapped my legs around her middle, urging her deeper. She tucked her hands beneath my shoulders, her lips tracing a path from my pulse-point to between my breasts, until her tongue found my nipple, and in cadence with her hips, she swirled around it, over and over in a delightfully carnal ballet.

I thought I might _come_ right then as a rush of sensations washed over me, both physical and emotional, my thoughts in chaos as I surrendered to the eroticism of our enchanting lovemaking. I rocked my hips, urging a quickened pace.

But, she was slow, taking her time, easing out of me, then gradually filling me again. The base of the dildo had a ridged 'rabbit' on it, that, as she thrust more deeply into me, would hit my clit in exactly the spot I needed.

We kissed like it was our last time, like lovers torn apart, or about to be torn apart, her lips ravishing me, her tongue eager and curious, delving into my mouth and she tasted like wine and chocolate and I made a mental note to ask her if there was any left over – the chocolate, not the wine. She infinitesimally increased her pace, and as I felt the first tentacles of my orgasm unfurl through my insides, I whispered her name, I whispered my desire, my love, my _want._

My need.

Her breath was hot against my ear, her tongue licking its shell. "I love _fucking_ you, Kate," she croaked, her hips gyrating in increased desperate cadence. She stuck her tongue in my ear and I shivered, in spite of the sweat that coated my body. "_Come_ _for_ _me_," she begged.

I squeezed my eyes shut, felt my body seize up, the sweat roll down my neck and splash against the cotton duvet, and we moved as one body, one mind, with one delightfully carnal purpose.

I spiraled higher and higher, soaring as the orgasm crashed into me like waves against the rock, and she thrust into me, deeply, forcefully, whispering in my ear to come for her.

"Fuuuuuuck!" My shattered cry echoed from the high ceilings and I felt her giggle, her teeth sinking into my shoulder as she pumped in and out of me slowly, softly, her breath hot on my neck. Eventually, taking her time, she withdrew the dildo and palmed me with her left hand, my body still humming with pleasure, coaxing the vestiges of my orgasm, each tiny contraction slightly lesser than the last, until I was completely satiated, wilted, pliant and supple beneath her, my limbs feeling like limp noodles.

She rolled onto her back, the dildo still erect and waving slightly, as though taking a bow for its outstanding performance. I giggled, reached for it, and then wiggled the strap-on down her body, past her endlessly long legs, and tossing it onto the hardwood floor – I'd be sure to clean it later.

Our bodies still pining for each other, I gathered her legs with mine, and we wound ourselves so thoroughly around one another that I didn't know where I began and she ended. I would take care of her, it would be her turn and she would scream my name soon enough. But, first I had to bask in the afterglow of that glorious orgasm.

I closed my eyes and sighed. This was so much better than fighting.

_So_ much better.

**A/N: **_Tee hee. So, you liked it? :-) _


	4. Bette Gets Her Way

**Passions Present: Flowers for Your Grave  
**By Dana Keylits

**Chapter Four: Bette Gets Her Way**

This time, _I_ was the first one out of bed. Bette was working from home today, so when the alarm started shrieking and rattling beside me, she just yawned and rolled away from me, tucking her hands between her knees, and mumbling for me to turn the infernal thing off - which I did by giving it a good whack, knocking it onto its face before fumbling with uncoordinated fingers to right it.

I was amazed I hadn't broken the thing yet. It was an old-fashioned battery operated twin bell Mickey Mouse alarm clock that Bette had thought would be cute in our bedroom. I'd rolled my eyes at her, wondering what had happened to the sophisticated art curator I'd fallen in love with as I watched her plop it on the bedside table with an enthusiastic _voila!_ I'd given in, though, because right after that she'd pulled me onto the bed and kissed me into submission, my own _voila!_ happening soon thereafter.

I threw back the covers, instantly regretting it when the rush of cold air assaulted my naked flesh, goose-bumps rising over my entire body as though called to attention by some unheard command. I shivered and then stumbled out of bed, heading straight to the bathroom and a hot shower, but not before stubbing my toe on the corner chair and an involuntary _shit!_ came flying from my mouth.

"You okay?" she whispered.

"Fine," I replied, briefly hopping on one foot as I rubbed the injured toe.

Tripping into the bathroom, I closed the door and flipped on the overhead light, my eyes blinking against the bright glow of the halogen lamps. I checked my reflection in the mirror and frowned. Through Narrowed eyes, I noticed something on my left shoulder, and recognizing what it was, I chuckled.

Bette had left a few marks on me.

I studied my shoulder more closely, leaning in to the mirror, making out the faint outline of bite marks just above my collarbone - not _immediately_ noticeable, but definitely recognizable. I felt a sideways grin creep up my face as I fingered the tiny red indents, a familiar twinge radiating from low in my belly as I remembered the _exact_ moment that she'd sunk her teeth into me.

Wicked girl.

The water felt insanely good as it cascaded down my body, gathering at my feet in a miniature soapy whirlpool before spiraling to its fate down the drain. I quickly shampooed, shaved my legs and pits, lathered and rinsed, staying under the stream for an extra thirty seconds just to feel the hot water pound against my neck and shoulders.

Instant massage.

Shutting off the water, my cooling skin immediately missed its cocooning warmth, I wrapped myself in a fluffy bath sheet, using a smaller towel to dry my hair, and gingerly stepped out of the claw foot tub. If not for my need to get to work - the case was still calling me and I wanted to double check our facts on the arrest, it just wasn't sitting right with me - I would have loved nothing more than to wake Bette and have her join me in the shower, a particularly _favorite_ morning ritual that we'd established early on in our relationship.

Bette and I had almost not made it. As a couple, anyway. Just before my mom had been killed she'd tried to break it off with me, we'd barely begun and already she was ending it. I'd almost let her, too. I'd almost walked away, mistaking her words for truth rather than the misguided self-preservation that they actually were. But, after licking my wounds, thinking it over, feeling it, _healing_ over, I'd realized she was just as scared as I had been. So, I'd forced my way back into her life, and while it hadn't been easy, particularly not after my mother's death, and my dads problems with alcohol, we'd managed to make it work.

And then it had _blossomed_, and thrived, and after I'd finished college, we'd moved back to New York together. I'd entered the Academy, at first to her dismay, but given the circumstances of my moms death, she understood it was what I needed to do, so she ultimately supported me. She pretty quickly landed a job curating for the Met, and the rest, as they say, was history.

Some days, it really seemed like I was living a fairy tale.

As I wrapped my hair up in the soft white towel and then rubbed my face with day moisturizer, I wondered what might have happened if we _hadn't_ stayed together. Who would I be with now? Would I have gone back to dating men? Or, would there have been another woman out there who would turn my head?

I heard the bathroom door creep open behind me and a bleary-eyed Bette stumbled in, her hair haloed around her head in an untamed jet-black crown, her body wrapped in the hand knit throw we kept at the foot of our bed. She extended her left arm, my cell phone in her hand - I hadn't heard it ring and wondered why she'd bothered to answer it. As though reading my mind, she explained, "He wouldn't stop. Just kept calling back."

I felt my eyebrows tug together as I stared back at her, reaching for the phone. "Who is it?"

She yawned loudly, turning around to return to bed and answered, post-yawn, over her shoulder, "Rick Castle."

* * *

**O**f course, Castle calling me had only been to make sure I wasn't already at the precinct so he could sneak in and steal the Kyle Cabot file, I'd caught him at my desk red-handed, but he'd temporarily charmed his way out of the bullpen with the file by offering me a signed copy of his book – accompanied by an awkward kiss on the cheek.

He might have gotten away with it, except it was the kiss that had made me suspicious. A guy like that is probably used to being able to take women, and probably a few _men_, with his charm and good looks. But, not me. I was _already_ taken. By someone with far more charm, and far better looks, than Richard Castle.

So after I'd spoken with his mother, and found him at the New York Public Library, nestled at a research table with the file spread out in front of him, I'd had him arrested.

It was, hands down, the best part of my day.

His mother, a charming and charismatic older Broadway actress, and daughter, who seemed far more mature and responsible than her father, had come to bail him out. It was then that Montgomery had finally said the sweet, sweet words I'd longed to hear. _No more interference with this case, Mr. Castle. Do we understand each other?_ To which Castle had replied, _Yeah. _

Hallelujah!

But then, suddenly sober, his baby blue's catching my gaze, he'd warned,_ But you still got the wrong guy._

I wanted to kill him.

Because, the jackass was _right_.

XXX

I was halfway home when the text from Bette came through. _Peggy Peabody is hosting a dinner party tonight at Le Caprice. Please, please, babe, will you meet me there? Please? _

Gawwwwwd. This was the stuff I hated about being in a committed relationship. My thumbs flying over the keypad, I typed back, _Yes, I will come, but you owe me, big time. _I was about to put the phone back in my jacket pocket when it buzzed with her reply. _I promise, I'll pay you back in sexual favors. _I smiled, my body tingling in just the right spots - she never ceased to have that affect on me.

I jumped in a cab to head to the restaurant, wishing I'd had time to drop my gun and badge off at home first, but grateful that I'd decided to wear a suit to work this morning, the dark jacket would hide my sidearm, and I could tuck the badge in my purse. Bette had dressed me, telling me to wear the green blouse instead of the white because it 'brought out my eyes.' Thinking of this, I narrowed them, wondering if this had been her plan all along. To _spring_ Peggy Peabody's dinner on me, thereby not giving me time to weasel out of it.

The cab dropped me off at the Upper East Side restaurant, and, offering a generous tip to the cabbie for his speedy service, I jumped out, slammed the car door shut, and approached the entrance to the restaurant.

And then my heart stopped, or sped up, I don't remember which, but whatever the case, it was reacting to the _very_ recognizable silhouette of the man standing just inside the doorway.

Richard _Fucking_ Castle.

**A/N: **_I want to thank all of you who left reviews after the last chapter. I'm sorry I wasn't able to respond to them individually. Life just got ahead of me. Please know how much I truly appreciate it when you take the time to leave me your thoughts. It is a true gift. Thank you! _


	5. Favors and Forgiveness

**Passions Present: Flowers For Your Grave  
**By Dana Keylits

**Chapter Five: Favors and Forgiveness  
**

"Babe!" Bette's familiar voice greeted me from behind, "You got here awfully fast."

I spun around on her, my face crimson. "_What_," I spat. "Is _he _doing here?"

She glanced over my shoulder and smiled, her eyes bright. "Who? Rick?"

I felt my eyebrows raise and I planted one hand on my hip. "Yes," I replied. "Rick."

Bette took a step towards me and fingered the lapel of my jacket. "Kate," She started, her voice low, almost a whisper. "…you said _you_ weren't going to ask him to dinner. You never said _I_ couldn't ask him."

I made a face. "I thought that was implied."

Bette shook her head. "You said that if Peggy wanted Castle at her dinner party, she would have to invite him herself."

"Yes. Peggy! Not you," Kate barked.

"Kate, what's the difference? You didn't want to ask him because you didn't want to owe him any favors. You didn't say anything about refusing to have dinner with the man."

I fixed my other hand on my other hip and blew a strand of wayward hair from my eyes. "Again. I thought that was implied," I stated flatly.

She hooked her arm in mine and turned me towards the entrance, "Well, I didn't pick up on that. Next time be clearer…"

"I was…"

"We're all here now, so we may as well just go in and have an enjoyable evening." She pointed at a _closed for private event_ sign that hung in the window. "Look. Peggy rented the place for the night. Who _knows_ what fantastic things she has in store."

I rolled my eyes and begrudgingly allowed Bette to lead me towards the door. Castle was still standing just inside the vestibule, having an animated conversation with an extremely well-dressed older woman, Peggy Peabody no doubt. When he saw me, he gave me a sideways grin and cocked his head. "Detective Beckett," he greeted, and then glanced at Bette, extending his hand. "And, you must be Bette Porter? Bette nodded, offering him a firm handshake. He turned back to me with that same sideways grin and I tamped down the impulse to slap it right off of his face. "You're not going to arrest me again, are you?" He held up both palms. "Although," he winked at Peggy Peabody, "…I wouldn't mind if you slapped the cuffs on me _yourself_ this time."

I rolled my eyes, trying to think of a witty retort when Peggy Peabody suddenly clapped her hands together, an expression that could only be described as _delighted_ sweeping her features. "Oh," she joyfully exclaimed, "...I have a feeling this is going to be a _very_ interesting night!" She glanced from Castle to me and then opened the inner door to the restaurant, "Come, my darlings. Join my friends and me for an evening of debauchery and mayhem!" She glanced over her shoulder as she strolled into the restaurant, "We have no shortage of circus performers and carnival freaks, myself included. You'll fit right in!" She must have seen the apprehension on my face because she added, "…don't worry, dear. That is the _highest_ compliment I can give a person."

_Great,_ I thought to myself. _Like I don't deal with enough circus performers and carnival freaks at work. _Bette reached for my hand, but I pulled away. "Not here," I warned. "I'm not out at work, remember?"

"But, this isn't work, Kate, this is…"

"You invited _Castle," _I reminded her, "Castle _is_ work."

* * *

**W**hen we entered the dimly lit room, there were about half a dozen other couples milling around, wine and cocktail glasses in their hands as they nibbled on appetizers being passed around by tuxedo clad servers. We were the only threesome, it appeared, although Peggy was uncoupled so hopefully she'd latch on to Castle, and I wouldn't be stuck having to talk with him.

Sadly, that was not to be my fate, and when it came time to be seated at the long table-clothed table, Peggy, seated at the head, had placed Bette on her right and Castle on her left, and instructed me to sit next to Castle.

If I could have reached her across the table, I'd have kicked Bette in the shin. Not that she would have noticed. She was too busy chatting it up with an ancient looking bearded man who was balding but, unable to let go of his youth, had a long thin ponytail trailing down the back of his tweed suit jacket. He and Bette had already fallen into a deep discussion about a new up-and-coming artist that they both admired.

Castle was charming the pants off of Peggy Peabody with fantastical stories about his time following a female CIA agent while writing his first Derrick Storm novel. She'd been the inspiration for the Clara Stark character. He wouldn't name her, said it was classified, but I had the distinct impression he'd done more than just _research_ with her.

"And, is that what he did with you, Detective?" Peggy asked, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched almost as perfectly high. "Did he _research_ with you?"

I could feel Bette's eyes shifting to me as Peggy awaited my answer. I cleared my throat and turned towards Peggy. "No, ah, Mr. Castle provided us with some assistance on a recent murder case."

Like an eager third-grader looking to score brownie points with the teacher, Castle jumped in. "It wasn't just _any_ case, Peggy." He threw me an annoyed glance. "You make it sound so dry and dull," he accused before turning back to their hostess. He launched into the story of the case, leaving out no details and embellishing a few as well. I didn't bother correcting him, because I didn't really care that much. I just wanted to be done with the conversation, and move on to my much more familiar role as bored dinner guest.

When he was finished, he looked over at me with a goofy smile on his face, as though he were proud of himself, as though _I_ should be proud of him, too.

I wasn't.

I side-glanced at Castle and then explained. "Castle cooperated with the investigation, and then insisted on tagging along as we solved the case," I picked up my wine glass. "We made an arrest this afternoon, so, now we're all done. Castle can go back to writing novels, and I can go back to doing my job."

"Except we aren't done," Castle chided. He looked at me, his boyish grin morphing into a sober almost _adult-like_ expression. Which took me by surprise. The guy can actually act like an adult? "And, you know it, don't you?" he finished.

I shifted in my seat, not wanting to let on that I agreed, but also not wanting him to think that he knew better than me. I inwardly groaned, thinking _God, am I sixteen?_ I opened my mouth to reply, hating that I was going to have to agree with him. "I'll admit," I reluctantly started, cocking my head to one side, "...that there are _some_ inconsistencies that I think I need to investigate. But..."

"Some?" he glanced at Bette and then at Peggy, both of whom were paying close attention. "I'd say there are more than _some, _Detective Beckett."

I rolled my eyes, hiding behind the sizeable goblet as I tipped it towards my mouth to take a sip of wine. I set it back on the table with a gentle _thunk_, my tongue darting out to lick the excess crimson liquid still clinging to my lips. He was watching me, his eyes darting to my mouth, and I felt my cheeks grow hot. "Okay, fine," I finally relented, "..._several_. But..." I held up a staying finger, knowing exactly what was going to come from that sarcastic mouth of his. "...after the stunt you pulled today, I will be looking into them _myself_."

He grinned, tiny crinkles fanning out from the corners of his eyes that under ordinary circumstances I'd think were adorable. He picked up his own wine glass and tipped it towards me. "Oh, but _Detective_, where's the fun in _that_?"

I made a face and glanced at Peggy Peabody, who seemed mesmerized by the verbal swordplay between us. Her chin resting on her clasped hands, she smiled at me, and then joked, "Should we get you two a room?"

Bette broke out into nervous laughter, _her_ cheeks growing crimson, and I held her gaze, momentarily losing myself in the mysterious depths of her brilliant eyes. I wanted to make sure she wasn't upset by Peggy's insinuation, and she didn't appear to be. She seemed more amused than anything else, which to be honest, was irritating as hell, because all of this awkwardness was _her_ fault. She winked at me as she lifted her tumbler of gin to take a sip, and I felt my lips curve. Never could resist her. No matter how angry I was, or annoyed, or exasperated, she always managed to pull me in.

Castle just smiled smugly into his glass, his ears turning a _little-red-wagon_ shade of red. Before he could reply with some verse of rapier wit, and I had no doubt he was mulling his options, we were mercifully interrupted by a flurry of waiters serving the first course. _Thank God_, I thought, as I leaned to the left to allow the server room to set down my bowl of cucumber soup. I was not the kind of person who wanted to lead someone on, even someone as infuriating and annoying as Richard Castle. And it was _more_ than obvious that if I had just said the word, he'd be hailing a cab and taking me to the nearest pay-by-the-hour hotel room he could find.

"So, Detective Beckett," Peggy started, gracefully dipping her spoon into her soup, scooping away from her body as only the elegantly educated would know to do. "What's it like being an NYPD detective?" Before allowing my answer, she added, "I must say I am quite surprised by your appearance, I had assumed you'd look more _butch." _

"Oh my," Bette muttered, casting her eyes to her lap.

"Um," I replied. "Thank you?"

"Oh, dear. I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to be _offensive_," Peggy explained. "I just assumed you were a lesbian like Bette here."

Bette looked at me, her eyes like saucers, shaking her head as though to say _I never told her that._ Recovering, Bette wiped her mouth and smiled. "Ah, Peggy. How did you-?"

"Know you're a lesbian? Oh, please..." she waved her hand. "...I can spot 'em a mile away."

I could feel the laughter bubbling inside of Castle and I wanted to kick _him_ in the shin. "Well, not all female cops are lesbians," I replied, avoiding Bette's gaze. "And, not all lesbians are _butch,_" I added for good measure.

"Clearly not," Castle interjected, winking at Bette. I rolled my eyes. What was it with guys and lesbians? _Dude. She doesn't want you._ I wanted to scream at him.

Peggy reached over and patted the back of Castle's hand, a sympathetic glint in her eye. "Sorry, dear. But, I don't think she's into you," she leaned closer, holding her hand to her mouth as though sharing a secret. "I suspect," she waved her finger between Bette and me, "...they're into each _other_."

Castle slowly turned towards me, flashing a sideways grin, his eyebrows hiked to his hairline. "Reeeeally," he replied, enjoying this far too much.

I could feel the heat rise within me, white hot and blazing. I was furious. Furious at Bette for putting me in this situation, furious at Peggy Peabody for asking such intrusive questions, and furious at Castle for...well, for just being _Castle._

I wiped my mouth and then set the oversized cloth napkin on the table, my eyes barely meeting his. "No," I answered. "Not really." I stood up, mumbled a quick _excuse_ _me_, and wound my way to the ladies room, feeling all of their eyes on me like lasers at a Star Trek convention.

* * *

**I**t took longer than I thought it would, but five minutes after I'd made my escape, Bette came bursting through the door, pointing behind her. "What the _hell_ was that about?"

I rounded on her, "You're kidding, right?"

"No, Kate. I'm not kidding. I can't believe that you said that back there."

"I'm not out –"

"At work, I know," she spat, moving to stand in front of me. "But to _deny_ me like that? You didn't have to do that, you could have..."

My eyes grew wide, "Could have _what? _Bette, you put me in this situation. You should have told me you'd invited Castle, not spring him on me at the last minute. You knew how I felt..."

"I'm not so sure," she interrupted, shaking her head.

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It _means_, you have feelings for Castle."

"_What_?" I could feel my heart race, my temperature rise. I folded my arms and leaned sideways against the sink. "I most certainly do not. And," I held up a palm when I could see she was going to interrupt. "I am _not_ in denial. The guy is cocky, and annoying and he drives me crazy. But, not because I have _feelings_ for him, Bette, but because he's a jackass!"

"So, why do you care what he thinks about you?" She asked, her brows knitted together. "What's the big deal?"

"Oh my God," I roared. "I cannot keep having this same conversation over and over."

"You said it yourself, the case is over, he's out of your hair. Why does it matter if he knows about us?"

"Because, Bette. I'm not _comfortable_ with that. And, I don't _know_ if he's out of my hair."

"You shouldn't have denied me, Kate." And she looked at me with such wounded eyes that it sliced through my heart like glass. She was right, of course. There were any number of ways I could have skirted around that issue. But, I was upset, and angry, and blindsided, and I didn't expect that I would have to explain myself to a room full of perfect strangers.

I took a tentative step towards her, my bottom lip trapped between my teeth as I inhaled deeply, considering my next words, feeling my eyes well up with tears, and then I sensed someone behind me.

We hadn't noticed Peggy Peabody slip into the elegant powder room until it was far too late. She approached us, a remorseful look on her face, her linen napkin still in her hands. "Oh, dear," she blurted. "I'm afraid I've stepped over some line, haven't I? My daughter is eternally warning me that someday I'm going to do some actual damage."

I stared at my shuffling feet while Bette stepped back, wiping her mouth with her fingertips and mumbling that it was fine.

"No, no," Peggy pleaded. "It's not fine. You're fighting, and it's my fault. Let's fix it."

"Peggy," Bette whispered, a soft chuckle in her breath. "It's fine. Kate and I..."

"You're lovers," Peggy announced, clutching the napkin with her pinky finger as she grabbed each of our arms with each of her hands. "But, you," she nodded at me, "aren't out of the closet, are you?"

I just stared at her.

"Right," she stated, as though I'd confirmed her question. "And you," she looked at Bette. "Are out, but have to pretend sometimes that you're _in_ because Kate here is a closet case."

"I'm not a _closet_ case," I protested, feeling my cheeks grow hot again.

"You're not? You clearly don't want that delicious Mr. Castle to know you and Bette are together. So, _what_ are you then? Oh, dear," she gasped, her eyes wide as though something had just dawned on her. "Oh, dear oh dear. You want him _and_ Bette. Oh, Bette." She rubbed Bette's upper arm sympathetically. "Oh, you poor girl." She shook her head. "Although, it _could_ be fun," she waved her hand in the air. "A man like that? I'm sure he's quite _talented_."

"Peggy," Bette breathed again, her lips curving into an amused smile.

"And, quite well _equipped_!" She added. "I'm sure he could service you both. If you wanted that sort of thing." She winked at me and I felt my own bubble of laughter rise to the surface.

Bette hooked her arm through Peggy's and laughed. "Oh, Peggy. I think your daughter was on to something."

She waved her hand again. "Neither of you think that dreamy specimen of man out there is worth exploring?"

We both shook our heads and Peggy threw up her hands. "Well, good enough," she exclaimed, primping her hair in the mirror. She rubbed a smudge of lipstick from her teeth, straightened her collar, "fluffed" her boobs and then spun on her heel towards the doorway. "More for me to enjoy. Because, girls?" She paused at the half-open door and winked at us. "By the end of this evening I plan to ride that man like a Harley on a bad piece of road! Come back to the table soon," she swirled her finger in the air, "...second course awaits."

We stood there, in front of each other, awkwardly exchanging glances before she finally reached for my hand and held it in both of hers. "I'm sorry, Kate. I should have told you as soon as I'd invited Rick."

I nodded, inching closer. "I'm sorry too," I glanced up at her, hoping against hope that that wounded look in her eyes was gone. "I shouldn't have denied you." She palmed my cheek, then leaned in and kissed me. Her lips warm, soft, her tongue darting out to lave my bottom lip and I closed my eyes, breathing her in, relished the warmth of her lips against mine.

We parted. "I love you," I added, and she smiled, our foreheads touching.

"Love you, too."

* * *

**B**y the end of the dinner, I had loosened up enough that I was actually enjoying myself. I daresay it, I even laughed at a few of Castle's jokes, and took _great_ amusement in Peggy's rather obvious advances towards him, which at first confused him, but then he seemed to enjoy it. As we gathered our belongings, and meandered to the front door to leave, Castle pulled me aside and asked, "You're going to talk to Mr. Tisdale tomorrow, right? That's where Derrick Storm would start, with the father."

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and gave him an exasperated look. "It's none of your business _what_ I'm going to do."

He bounced on the balls of his feet, "C'mon, Beckett." He clasped his hands together as though in prayer. "I need to know how this story ends, and you and I both know _this _was not the right ending. Please, I promise, I won't get in the way, I'll just _observe." _

"Castle. I've seen how you _observe_."

"Please?"

I don't know if it was the alcohol, or just my good mood, but god damned if that puppy dog face didn't melt my resolve. "Fine. Meet me at Tisdale's building at 9:00 a.m."

He bounced, _actually_ bounced with excitement and flashed me a wide grin. "You won't regret it."

"I _already_ regret it," I blurted, making my way back towards Bette.

The last thing I heard before we left the restaurant was Peggy Peabody inviting Castle back to her place for a nightcap. I didn't bother sticking around to find out his answer, scooting into the back of a waiting limo with Bette right beside me. _Besides_, I thought, as I reached for Bette's hand and the car lurched forward, _I have my own nightcap to tend to._

* * *

**H**er hand slid up my thigh as the limo lumbered along Manhattan's uneven streets, and she leaned in and whispered in my ear, "As I recall, Kate. I owe you a favor."

I smiled, aware of my legs as they automatically parted just enough to let her fingers slip between them and inch their way upwards.

Call and response.

"We're in a limo, Bette," I protested, wilting like an ageing flower as her lips ghosted my throat. "The driver can see us."

She laughed, reaching over me for a button on the door panel, her delicious vanilla scent wafting into my nostrils, and raised a tinted partition separating the front of the car from the back. It wasn't a stretch limo, but there was plenty of room back there. _Plenty_ of room. "Why do you think I called the car service instead of just a cab?" She purred, her hand slipping even higher, the fingers of her other hand like feathers on my neck. We kissed, our lips meeting in a languid ballet - patient, searching for something, forgiveness, perhaps, since we both required it. She tasted like cheesecake and I made a mental note to ask her how it was, since I'd had the sorbet.

I framed her face with both hands as we kissed, and then slid my right hand up the front of her skirt. She had worn a cream colored pencil skirt with black stiletto heels and bare legs. And, as I scraped my fingernails over her silky mocha skin, she whimpered into my mouth. I loved it when she did that, when she responded so completely to me, to my touch, my kiss, every breath in and out, every sigh, and wink, and flirtatious tilt of my head.

It wasn't long before her hands were everywhere, she tore my jacket from me, roughly untucked my green blouse, and tripped her fingers over my ribcage before they found my breasts, my nipples straining against the stiff fabric of my bra. Our kissing grew more urgent, as though we were teenagers about to get caught in the back of a parents van.

I inched higher and higher up her thigh reaching the apex of her legs where I abruptly stopped, gasping. "Bette," I whispered against her mouth. "You're not wearing any underwear!"

She pushed my bra up so she could play with my bare breasts, offering me a wicked smile as she opened my shirt. I don't even remember her unbuttoning it. "They're in my purse," she confessed, her lips hot against the column of my throat. "I took them off just before we left."

I growled, my teeth trapping her earlobe, my fingers weaving their way between her inner folds, she was so wet, so wanting, already pulsing against me, her hips rocking, her pelvis tipping, urging my fingers to explore, to search and find her hardened pearl, and then bring her to new, erotic heights of back-seat gratification.

Her teeth clamped down on my nipple, not too hard, but hard enough to elicit a cry that was soon chased by her moans around the back of the car. I tugged at her hair with my free hand, bringing her mouth to mine, ravaging her, my tongue delving into her warm cavern, my lips urgent, hurried, furious.

Before I knew it she'd unzipped my pants, her hand sliding between my legs, finding _my_ wetness, _my_ readiness. She moved her mouth to my ear, her breath hot, "Let's try to come at the same time, Kate."

It didn't take long, and while it wasn't at _exactly_ the same time, her soft cries arriving seconds before mine, it was fucking incredible, amazing, the most fun I'd had in the back seat of a car _ever_, and that included the time with Simon Kohl, who was the lead singer in a grunge band and had always smelled like wet flannel and clove cigarettes.

Her hand still against me, her fingers slightly in me, she held onto me through the aftershocks, as I did with her, enjoying the slight pulse of her body as it contracted against my hand. When we finally sat up, the windows of the back seat so steamed up we couldn't see, I wiped at the window, and realized the car had been idling in front of our building for quite some time.

"Oh, fuck," I laughed. "We're home."

We quickly dressed, laughing, then, as I stepped out of the car, Bette lowered the partition and paid the driver a hefty tip. I just stood there, on the sidewalk, biting my thumbnail as I watched him thank her, a knowing grin on his face. I felt my cheeks grow hot, but I didn't care. That was fun.

That was _way_ fucking fun. And definitely, favor returned!


	6. You Have No Idea

**Passions Present: Flowers for Your Grave  
**By Dana Keylits**  
**

**Chapter 6: You Have No Idea **

Even though I'd warned Castle not to interfere, a vigilant voice at the back of my mind told me to get to Jonathan Tisdale's office as early as possible. I had a sneaking suspicion the meddling mystery writer was going to ignore my instructions and start investigating without me.

I was right.

He had just entered the lobby of the massive building, and, judging by the fact that he was wearing the same pastel striped shirt and tan suede jacket as the night before, _and_ was sporting a thicker than usual five o'clock shadow, I could tell that he'd clearly joined Peggy Peabody for that nightcap last night. I laughed inwardly as I sneak up behind him.

"Hi, I'm Rick Castle. I have an appointment to see Mr. Tisdale."

The attractive receptionist checked her appointment book and nodded, "Yes, Mr. Castle, he's expecting you."

I strolled past him, a smirk on my face as I flashed my badge at the receptionist. "_Is_ he now?"

Castle whipped around to see me, clearly surprised, and tripped over his own tongue trying to explain, "This is not what it looks like. This – I - okay, this is exactly what it looks like – but I can explain."

I just kept walking, and, sidestepping into the elevator, asked, "You coming?"

As the elevator doors closed, I glanced at him out of the side of my eye, feeling a crooked grin bow my lips. "So, you and Peggy Peabody, huh?" I rolled on to the balls of my feet. "_In_-ter-esting."

He chuckled, glanced up at the ascending lights that marked our progress as we rose higher and higher in the expansive elevator car, and replied, "She's a dynamic woman."

"I'll _bet_."

"Now, now, Detective, do I detect a note of _judgment_?"

"Me? Judging you? Ah, no," I playfully looked him up and down. "I _do_ judge her, however."

He winced. "Ouch."

I turned to face him, "So what is it with you, Rick? Was she just another conquest? Another notch on your belt?"

"Oh, she was more than one notch, Beckett, a woman like that _knows_ what she's doing." He made a tumbling gesture with both hands "She did this one thing with her leg over her–"

Holding up a staying palm, I interrupted. "I don't need the details."

He dropped his hands to his sides, cocking his head. "Let's just say that she wasn't the only one being conquested! Alright? There was plenty of mutual conquesting going on, if you know what I mean. _Multiple _conquesting. Probably the best conquesting she's had in _years_!"

I rolled my eyes as the doors pinged open and we stepped out of the elevator. " Yes, Castle, I get it. You're about as subtle as a flying brick."

I flashed my badge at the receptionist outside of Teasdale's office, ignoring Castle's sarcastic grin. "Kate Beckett, NYPD. This is Richard Castle," I glanced over at him, "…_Conquestor_." He chuckled and looked at the receptionist with an expression that could only be described as unabashed _pride_. "We're here to see Mr. Tisdale."

As the leggy receptionist ushered us to Jonathan Tisdale's office, I hated to admit it, I was loath to admit it, but ribbing Rick Castle was turning into an enjoyable pastime.

A _hobby_, of sorts.

* * *

"**T**ell me you saw that!"

I holstered my gun as the suspect hit the ground, Castle hovering over him with one shoe on and one shoe off. Climbing onto Harrison Tisdale, the victims' own _brother_, I grabbed his hands and held them behind his back, my knee grinding into his lower spine.

"You're gonna put that in your report, right?" Castle asked excitedly, weaving unsteadily behind me, hopping on one foot.

I reached towards him, "Can I see the cuffs, please?"

"Yeah, yeah," he wriggled out of them and handed them to me. I cuffed the suspect, a couple of _okay's_ tumbling past my lips as Castle plopped his butt onto the ground, his bare foot bleeding from a piece of broken glass.

Once I had the suspect securely cuffed, the adrenaline finally receding, I reached over and smacked Castle square in the chest, knocking him against the wall. "What in the hell were you thinking, you could have gotten yourself killed!"Castle had, despite my handcuffing him to my car, chased the suspect down the alley, only to be taken hostage before managing to disarm the man.

He pointed at Tisdale's discarded gun and explained, "Well, the safety was on the whole time."

I glanced at the gun, making a face. "Ya know, you coulda told me."

He grinned, that sheepish smug, playboy grin of his, and replied, "Where's the fun in that?"

I got the suspect to his feet just as uniforms pulled up in the alley. They searched him and walked him to the group of squad cars arriving on the scene. Castle just sat there, nursing his foot and wincing.

"You okay?"

"Glass," he commented. "It's stuck in there pretty good."

I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of evidence gloves, snapping them on before reaching for his foot and putting it in my lap as I hunched on my knees in front of him. "Hold still," I warned as he screwed up his face in anticipation of the excising, and then, without warning him, I quickly plucked the glass out of his foot. He flinched and sucked in a quick shot of air between clenched teeth. "Don't be a baby, Castle." I teased, "It's just a piece of glass."

"Yeah, but it hurts," he complained, his eyebrows knitting together. I asked a Uniform for a Band-Aid and then applied it to Castle's foot, instructing him as I peeled off the gloves, that he'd need to clean it out and re-bandage it as soon as he could. As I stood up, brushing the alley's grit from my pants, I sent the uniform out to look for Castle's other shoe. Castle made sure to point out to the disinterested cop that he'd tossed it during the high-stakes footrace to catch the killer. I rolled my eyes at him, and then grabbed his hand to help him up. "Come on, Castle."

He kept one hand on my shoulder for balance as he hopped along beside me. Before we could reach my cruiser, the uniform returned with Castle's shoe, and I left him there to put it on. I joined Esposito, who'd just arrived in the alley.

"Looks like your boy there is more useful than you give him credit for," Esposito joked.

"He's not my boy," I protested. "And, he just happened to get lucky."

"Oooh," Esposito teased, giving me a wink and a sideways grin. "gettin' lucky, huh?"

"Shut up, Espo."

After I gave a still grinning Javier and the other detectives the 411 on what went down in the alley, Espo took Harrison to his car, while uniforms finished gathering the shredded evidence that had landed in all corners of the alleyway. My heart had finally stopped racing, and after I took off my jacket and rolled up my sleeves - the day was getting warm - I stood in the alley, watching them interrogate Harrison Tisdale with the satisfaction of knowing that this time, we'd gotten it right. It was a good bust. One I probably wouldn't have gotten if it weren't for…

"Ahem."

I turned around.

There was that full wattage Richard Castle smile again.

"Well," I started, inching closer to him, "…guess this is it."

He cocked his head. "Well it doesn't have to be, we could, ah, go to dinner. De-brief each other."

"Why, Castle? So, I can be another one of your conquests?"

He glanced sideways, his eyes smiling, "Or, I could be one of yours."

I grinned and met his playful gaze. If only he knew. I held out my hand. "It was nice to meet you, Castle."

He hesitated, probably thinking I'd say yes, and then recovering from the rejection, accepted my handshake; his grip was firm, his fingers warm. He held my hand for a beat too long and replied, "It's too bad, woulda been great."

Oh, god. He _really_ had no clue. I bit my bottom lip and leaned in to whisper in his ear, pausing before answering, "_You have no idea_."

I could feel his eyes on me as I sauntered away, and as the distance grew between us, I was surprised by the fact that I was having mixed emotions about it. I knew what he wanted from me, and he was never gonna get it. In spite of the fact that I was with Bette, a one-night stand with Richard Castle was just not something that appealed to me. I wasn't into the whole playboy lifestyle.

But, still. I'd discovered that I kind of liked the guy. I had a hard job, and he was a breath of fresh, albeit _annoying_, air. And, these past few days, he'd made going to work a little more _fun_.

So, as I ambled to my car, one hand in my pocket, I thought to myself:

_I might actually miss that jackass._

* * *

**A/N:** One more chapter left! I would like to acknowledge that some of the dialogue used in this chapter was not written by me. It was taken directly from the episode, which was written by Andrew W. Marlowe.

Thanks again for reading! Really appreciate all of your wonderful reviews!


	7. Apparently, You Have A Fan

**Passions Present: Flowers For Your Grave  
**By Dana Keylits

**Chapter Seven: Apparently, You Have a Fan  
**

I stepped into the loft, a satisfying but exhausting day sloughing off of me like melting butter, and from the sinfully delicious aroma of vanilla and chocolate, and something so sweet I couldn't put my finger on it, filling my nostrils, I immediately knew that Bette had gone on another baking spree. I closed the door and inhaled deeply, enjoying the delightful scent of fresh baked _something _that was making my mouth water. I tossed my keys on the walnut secretary desk next to the door and shrugged out of my blazer, tossing it on the back of the chair. "Mmmmm, _what_ is the _occasion_?"

Bette spun around, wearing a red and white vertically striped apron and holding a wooden handled spatula covered with chocolate frosting in one hand, a cupcake in the other. She flashed me a wide smile, her teeth brilliant beneath ruby lips. "We're celebrating."

I strolled into the kitchen area and spied an assortment of yellow and chocolate cupcakes cooling on baking racks, and a large round plate holding the chocolate frosted cupcakes she was currently finishing. I swept my finger over one of them, and then licked the succulent frosting from my finger. "Celebrating what?" I unbuttoned my shirtsleeves, and then un-tucked my shirt from the black dress pants I'd worn to work that day – a suit that I would need to send to the cleaners thanks to the sudden chase down a dirty alley I'd had to give Harrison Tisdale.

"Peggy Peabody loaned us her collection."

I could feel the wry grin creep across my face and I leaned my hip against the counter, crossing my legs at the ankle. "_Did_ she now?"

"Yeah, I don't know what magic you and Castle worked last night, but she called me this morning, and told me we could have it for the spring exhibit."

I laughed. "I don't think _I_ had anything to do with it." I took another lick of frosting. "That was one hundred percent Richard Castle."

She finished frosting the last of the plated cupcakes, and then held her palm over the ones that were still cooling to see if they were ready to frost. "How do you know?"

I rolled my eyes. "Bette." She glanced up at me and I leaned forward, grinning. "He _slept_ with her."

Her eyes grew big as saucers and she brushed her hands together, expelling cupcake crumbs from them. "He _slept_ with her? Are you serious? How do you even _know_ that?"

"He told me today. According to him, she was _good_."

Bette visibly shivered. "Oh my god."

I laughed, inching closer to her. "I know. You should have seen him, proud as a peacock." I noticed a smudge of frosting on her cheek and reached out with my finger to wipe it off, it was already dry and, feeling inspired, I leaned in and kissed her cheek, licking the frosting loose with my tongue.

She shivered again.

"Well, whatever he did. I'm grateful. The museum renewed my contract _and_ gave me a huge signing bonus."

I leaned back, my arms around her waist, "Bette! Are you kidding? That's _awesome_."

She smiled, whispering, "I know." She brushed her nose against mine before pressing her lips gently on my mouth. "So, you can see why I'm in the mood for a celebration," she purred.

Her lips were soft, her kiss softer, and my tongue was probing and curious, finding hers, tasting the remnants of chocolate and vanilla she'd undoubtedly been nibbling all afternoon. I felt my knees turn to syrup and I leaned into her. "How do you want to celebrate?" I whispered, "Should we go-"

Before I could finish my thought, misbehaving fingers had secretly unbuttoned my blouse, slowly parting the fabric so she could travel the curves of my upper body. I trembled as the air shifted, a carnal vibration passing between us, immediately changing the mood from _playful_ to _erotic_.

Her lips traveled the line of my jaw as my breathing quickened. I gathered the tie of her apron in my fists, my thoughts in disarray, my body on fire, while she strummed my ribcage with the tips of her fingers, tripping along the lace of my black bra, leaving gooseflesh along the swell of my breasts before she slipped the shirt off my shoulders, letting it drop carelessly in a heap on the floor.

I curled my tongue around the shell of her ear and whispered, "…to that little place…" but she cut me off again, her mouth capturing mine in a frenzied kiss, her fingers pulling the straps of my bra down my shoulders, her fingernails leaving white lines in their wake.

"...down the street...?" She pushed me against the counter and I arched away from her as her mouth skated my throat, her tongue laving the delicate flesh of my pulse point, her nimble fingers releasing the clasp of my bra as she trapped it between her teeth and removed it with a groan, her hands cupping my breasts, her fingers rolling the nipples. "Ohhhh, God," was all I could say, all I could _breathe,_ it was all I could _think_. Over and over, _Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god. _

She glanced at me with that devilish grin, and I knew I was in for something delicious, unexpected, totally _Bette_. And, when she lathered my nipples with chocolate frosting, and then took one into her mouth, sucking and licking, her hands gripping my waist, her moans devious and wicked, she did _not_ disappoint.

My fingers tangled in her hair, I brought her mouth up to mine and stole the chocolate on her tongue, outlining her mouth, savoring its sweet flavor. I reached behind me for the bowl of chocolate frosting and offered her a lopsided smile. "Let's take this to the bedroom," I reached for her hand and towed her away. "...so we can _properly_ celebrate, yes?"

With her finger trapped between her teeth, a smile adorning her mouth as her eyes sparkled like midnight diamonds, her black hair wild and unruly as it bounced around her shoulders, she nodded. "_Yes_."

* * *

**I** was looking forward to a quiet day at work, filled with only paperwork, lunch with Lanie, and hopefully a murder-free afternoon. After last nights frosting-fueled tango with Bette, I was relaxed, happy, looking forward to my day. I'd even let Bette dress me in her favorite white shirt and black tuxedo vest. She'd said it turned her on to see me in it, at which point I'd told her _she_ turned me on in anything, and that had led to forty-five minutes in the shower together. Which is why I was running late and had to skip my morning Latte.

The bullpen was quiet, Ryan and Espo were off today, and although, a part of me had to admit that he'd added an element of _fun_ to the Tisdale case, I was happy to not have Richard Castle nipping at my heels. No, today was going to be a breeze - paperwork, lunch, more paperwork, then home to Bette where she would undoubtedly help me get _out_ of her favorite outfit.

But forty-seven minutes into my day, all of my well-laid plans were blown to smithereens.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" I'd returned to my desk after grabbing my second cup of coffee and Captain Montgomery had left a sticky note on my chair.

"Yeah. I just got a call from the Mayors office," he explained, standing behind his desk as he delivered the news. "...apparently, you have a fan."

I tilted my head quizzically. "A fan, sir?"

"Rick Castle," he replied. A score of butterflies took flight in my stomach and I glanced out the window as I listened. "Seems he's found a main character for his next set of novels," he planted both hands on his hips as I returned my gaze to him. "A tough but savvy female detective."

Wait. What? Was Rick Castle basing his next book on me? I felt my eyebrows tug together. "I'm flattered?"

"Don't be," Montgomery warned. "He says he has to do _research_."

"Oh, no," I protested.

"Oh, yes."

"No way."

"Beckett, listen, there is no..."

I cut him off, the butterflies wreaking havoc in my stomach, "Sir, he is like a nine-year-old on a sugar rush, totally incapable of taking _anything_ seriously," I reasoned. Not to mention that he only wanted to get into my pants and I was _completely_ not available, and had _no_ desire to explain to him _why._

"But he did help solve this case," Montgomery rubbed in.

"Oh," I rolled my eyes and glanced away. Maybe that was true, but it didn't negate the fact that Castle was also a _pest _ and a jackass. In spite of my earlier softening towards him, I didn't need him mucking up my life.

Fuck.

Montgomery continued, "...and when the Mayors happy, the Commissioner's happy, and when the _Commissioner's_ happy, _I'm_ happy," he finished, a toothy grin curving his mouth. I wanted to smack it off of him.

"How long, sir?" I asked, a humorless expression on my face.

Montgomery glanced over my shoulder and nodded. "Well, that's up to him."

I spun around and there he was, leaning against the door-frame with a Cheshire cat grin on his face, Rick Castle, in the flesh. He flashed one eyebrow at me, and I wanted to pounce on him, slap that smirk off his face for good.

I stormed out of Montgomery's office and straight into the break room where I paced back and forth in front of the coffee maker. Castle followed me, seemingly enjoying my annoyance.

"Detective Beckett, we are gonna have so much _fun_ together."

I stopped mid-pace, staring at him with a slackjawed expression. "Fun? You think murder is fun, Mr. Castle?"

"Well, no, I didn't mean..."

"You think having to tell families that their loved ones were killed is _fun?" _

"No, look, Beckett, I only meant..."

"That being dragged to gruesome crime scenes in the middle of the night, is _fun?"_

"I only meant that working with _you..."_

"This is not _fun, _Castle. It's not a game. It's real life, and if you're going to be following me around like a lost puppy, you'd better understand that. Have respect for it. Because I'll risk the Mayors wrath and knock you on your ass before I let you turn it into some carnival side-show."

I was fuming. Although, admittedly, I wasn't _entirely_ sure why.

He held out both palms in surrender. "Look, Detective, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I only meant that I was looking forward to learning from you. To spending time with you. I want to get it right." He cocked his head and smiled at me. "I want to make sure that this character is fully fleshed out, that she's _authentic_."

I folded my arms and chewed on my bottom lip, staring at him through narrowed eyes. I didn't like surprises. I didn't like the unexpected or things I couldn't control, or predict, or figure out. And Rick Castle was most _certainly_ someone I could not control. I shoved my hands in my pockets. "Okay. I'm," I offered him a faint smile, "...sorry, too. I just wanna make sure you understand the ground rules."

He grimaced, "Ehhh, I'm not so good with rules, can we..?"

I opened my mouth to protest, poising one finger to poke into his chest when he laughed.

"Just kidding, Beckett," he flashed me a toothy grin. "I'll behave. I swear."

I rolled my eyes.

Something told me Richard Castle was going to do everything _but_ behave.

**The End. **

* * *

**A/N:** _Thank you for reading and reviewing and following this story. It was wicked fun to write! :-) And, once I finish 100 Sex Positions of the Kama Sutra, I hope to write another installment. _

_Thanks again to KB for encouraging me and supporting me, and being one hell of a cheerleader! _


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